


Knives, Thugs, Money, and a Hole In The Sewer

by DeathDirt



Category: TMNT - Fandom
Genre: MNT Gaiden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathDirt/pseuds/DeathDirt
Summary: Corona's 16. She's at least come to terms with her new life, and even begun finally enjoying it. She can defend herself, she has few good friends she keeps in touch with over the Internet, and she has a steady job. What job is that? ...It's a job she's fantasized about.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Corona's an MNT Gaiden-inspired OC, so of COURSE she's gonna be a bloodthirsty son of a gun! Seriously, though, she's just a bit of a sadist/psychopath by nature. And, yknow, who says sewer turtles can't get jobs?

Being a bounty hunter was something horny 12-year-old boys wanted because they thought they'd get all the girls. Corona always thought that the idea of being a bounty hunter and it being a career was stupid. But, one day, she killed a street thug, and the rush was great, sure, but she still...killed something. It made her feel bad. Aside from bugs (who counts those lives), Corona had never killed anything, on purpose or by accident. Maybe one could count Noko, her pet turtle that made her into the abomination she was, but that wasn't really true. So, she carried the guy to Central Park and buried him. He was still a slimeball, but she knew that most of them were just trying to get by in an unforgiving world. Not long after, she got called by some weird guy that called himself Smoky, and he told her that he saw what she did.

Of course this panicked her, but it didn't take long before they were talking business. Blood-soaked, violent business. A few months later, and Corona was rolling in cash she couldn't really use. She'd trained herself up just fine for self-defense, but now she was killing like a predator.

After the first few kills, which got her a little cash, but nothing monstrous, she decided that she needed a better way to kill. The old fashioned fisticuffs worked just fine, but it took too much out of her for the measly cash it brought in. A while later, and she bought real-deal fighting knives, beautifully curved and meticulously cared for. Three months (and God knows how many cuts) later, Corona could handle them like nobody's business. Kills went quicker, she kept her energy up longer, and there was less evidence for the cops to not see. Smoky kept her updated, shared the bounties with her in exchange for client info, and all of it made Corona so much more content to be a freak. 

She was 16. Nothing could have made her happier than a guy to make bank on. She'd been able to buy whatever comforts she wanted - a nice, new phone, a harness that kept her knives close, a tool belt that she carried all sorts of oddities in, an actual bed, a personal drone - and then some. And this most recent job was going to be the best yet. 

Apparently some rich boy was pissed at this other guy that was stealing his girl, so he'd called some guys down-under to get rid of him. Corona didn't particularly care. Even with the 45% she got, she was still getting sixty-seven grand to take out one dumbass kid. It made her happy to be so crooked. Or at least rich. Either way, she was happy. With a pat to Ditto, fixed up and standing guard over her bed, Corona ran down the sewer tunnels, watching her breath puff out in front of her. Winter. It was now her favorite and most productive season of the year. Skidding to a stop underneath a manhole cover, Corona gave herself a quick once-over, a self-satisfied nod to herself, and then scrambled up the cold metal. She pushed the manhole cover up a smidge, just enough to see out of, and waited. In the past year or so she'd spent being a hit-man, staking out was one of her more appreciated aspects of the job. 

Being paid to do nothing but sit and wait as the prey waltzed right by the dragon's mouth. She didn't have to wait too long, though. The kid walked by, exactly as he'd been described to her by Smoky - cropped black hair, high cheekboned Italian, hanging onto the arm of some pretty blonde. Whatever got her money.

Corona pulled out a recorder and played it. It played a mewling kitten, begging for its mother. She set it outside the manhole and slipped back down. The dragon was ready to pounce. She just had to contain herself until the helpless prey was where she wanted it. The girl was a stickler for cats. That was about the only thing Smoky said he could get out of the client other than "oh she's so hot, I love her so much, she's so beautiful, oh please". Corona was just thankful that she went to the other extreme - she couldn't find anybody with qualities she found appealing. The recording got the reaction she wanted. "Oh, Derek, listen! I think there's a kitten back there! Come on, we need to find it!" 

The guy wasn't as much of a jackass as Corona thought he'd be. "Sure thing, Mckenzie. Do you think it'd be behind the dumpster?" The girl was about as invested in him as a tiger was invested in crickets. Ignoring him, she set off down the alley, heels clicking annoyingly loudly, cooing for the little kitty to come closer. She almost stepped on the recorder. Wow, what a ditz. The guy, on the other hand, actually saw it. Corona barely saw it, but she could just see through the holes in the cover. She got a glimpse of the attempt-at-looking-cool hairstyle before he bent down to examine the recorder. Time to snap. 

Corona bursted from her cover, throwing the manhole cover to the side as she balanced herself on the edge of the manhole. "Heeeeeere's Knifey!" Cheesy, but it scared the crap out of the poor kid. He was yelping like a dog while the girl screamed her lungs out. Corona pulled her knives out and took one step forward. The girl screamed again, then went dead quiet. She'd fainted, thank God. The guy, on the other hand, looked fairly contained. He was shaking like crazy, but attempted to put his hands up like he was going to fight. "Y-you freaks d-don't scare me!"  
"Really? You're shaking like a leaf in the wind. Maybe us 'freaks' scare you too much when there's no guns around."

The boy edged closer to her, pretending he was going to throw a jab, but as his arm shot forward, Corona made a slash across his arm. He yelled a steady stream of curses, clutching his arm with red pouring down it. It took a step, a slash across his chest, and he fell. As a fail-safe, though, Corona knelt down and jabbed this guy open until his back looked like bloody swiss cheese. Pulling out her phone, she snapped a photo of it and sent it to Smoky with a text that read 'the girls here, fainted what should i do'. A moment of waiting and the reply came back - 'God damn, Corona. No class among freaks, huh? Just leave the girl, she'll come to soon enough.' The turtle shrugged as she clicked off the power and stowed her phone in her belt. 

Her job was done, she had the evidence she needed, now was the time to get the money. Corona went back into her sewer home, already thinking about what to do with her 67 K, when she got a call. The snot-nosed brat she was killing for. She answered it, being given a geeky, stupidly annoying voice. "Hey! Where's my girl?!" Corona chuckled. "I'm sorry, that wasn't the deal. Nowhere did you specify that I was to deliver your whore to you. You just wanted her loving boyfriend dead."  
"Look, bitch! I'm the one paying YOU to kill! Not the other way around!" Corona let him sit for a moment, huffing and puffing like a moron. "Maybe. But who's going to believe you when the police find that it's _your_ fingerprints on the knife, and that it's _your_ blood on the handle, and that it was _you_ in the picture I just sent to my informant to edit in case this happened. So. Who will the police believe? You, the culprit in all foreseeable ways? Or a well-known intelligence-gathering operant that even works for them?"

The other end of the line was deadly quiet for a few solid minutes. Nothing but some restricted breathing. "H-how much was it, again?" Corona smiled to herself. "150 Gs, my account, now. I'm about to check, so if there isn't one-hundred fifty thousand dollars put in my bank account, exactly, by the count of three, you'll be arrested in about two hours, and killed in six." Corona stuck the call on speaker and went into her bank account. She looked for a moment and nothing changed. "One." Still nothing. "Two." Fine by her. She'd found a way into half the prisons in New York months ago. Just as she opened her mouth to say three and hang up, a notification appeared. '$150,000 deposited into account by Unknown'. That made her day a little brighter.

"Thank you for your business, Mr. Kallawie." Corona hung up and laughed down the sewer tunnel. "What a fucking idiot." Corona sighed and went down the tunnel to get home. She had about sixty-seven thousand dollars to spend and save as she wanted.


End file.
